


A Dragon Among Thieves

by Kyon813



Category: Persona 5, 龍が如く | Ryuu ga Gotoku | Yakuza (Video Games)
Genre: AU-ish?, Basically Yakuza 6 didn't happen, Crossover, Definitely AU for Yakuza, Gen, Kiryu is what everyone needs in their lives, but expect Heavy Cursing, kind of a big change but I needed that for this story, not rated - Freeform, spoiler characters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:00:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23933464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyon813/pseuds/Kyon813
Summary: Kazuma Kiryu thought this would be just another visit to Tokyo. Then he wandered past a certain school on a certain day in April, and everything got stranger from there. He might not understand these kids with their "Cognitions" and "Metaverses" and "Personas", but helping strangers, busting heads, and digging through a national conspiracy? All in a day's work for the Dragon of Dojima.
Comments: 70
Kudos: 134





	1. Prologue: 24 Years Earlier

**Author's Note:**

> I've seen some fun crossovers between Yakuza/Ryu ga Gotoku and P5 before, but I kept wondering "How would the literal Greatest-Man-to-Ever-Live Kazuma Kiryu fit in the main story and world of Persona 5?" Hopefully, I can answer that for myself.
> 
> This story won't have a set schedule; frankly, I don't even have most of it figured out. I have a grasp on the prologue and first few chapters, I know where I want the story to go, and I'll probably end up writing the ending chapters first so I don't forget what I wanted to do with them, but most of the middle chapters will take some time to work out. So there may be some gaps in the updates, but it's not gonna be abandoned. I love this concept too much to do that.
> 
> As for the chapters themselves, I'll try to keep it all moving within the game's timeline, but there might be some jumping back and forth here and there for the sake of each chapter's story. Most chapters will be in the style of Yakuza's sidestories, little interludes between Kiryu and the main cast/confidants. I'll try not to interfere with the actual confidant paths, though a few might end up that way a little. This will give me time to actually figure out how to work Kiryu into the main story. Again, I know where I want to end up, I just need to find out how to get there.
> 
> But in the meantime, enjoy some thrills, some laughs, some cheers, maybe a tear, and all-in-all, another adventure with our favorite punch-dad and his eight new adopted children.
> 
> EDIT: Some fixes, some tweaks, and a reminder that I'm not dead.

_May 16th, 1993_

_Kamurocho, Shinjuku, Tokyo_

Kamurocho was a hotbed of crime. Sojiro Sakura knew that before he arrived. On the high end, most businesses were owned by or paid protection to the yakuza, most often one of the many branches of the Tojo Clan. Dojima, Shimano, or a part of Osaka's Omi Family ruled the world above the streets. The streets themselves were owned by the lesser gangs: bands of punks, thugs, pickpockets, and all-around creeps stalked the alleys from Showa to Shichifuku, preying on anyone dumb enough to look like they had money to throw around. Or to take.

Sojiro knew he should've tried to blend in. He knew he needed to look normal, like someone the street toughs would ignore as another pedestrian. But he could only come here directly after work; the seller was a busy man, and he wasn't going to be held up by one customer who needed to change clothes. Even then, there still wouldn't have been any problems if the conspicuously well-dressed Sojiro had left right after his pick-up, or knew his way around the district.

Now he had to kick himself for thinking he could luck out of being cornered by a trio of low-lifes after taking a wrong turn into a dead-end alley off Pink Street.

“Hey, hey, hey, old man!” The middle thug, the leader, shuffled forward, baggy track pants flapping as he walked. “What's in the case?” he sneered.

Sojiro's eye twitched at the name “old man” ( _I'm only 27, for God's sake. Do I look that old?_ ). He grunted, “None of your business. Excuse me,” and started walking. He held the briefcase behind him, out of reach and out of sight.

The smallest, in an orange jersey so bright it nearly drowned out the lights and neon signs behind him, cut Sojiro off. “If it's on our turf, pal,” he said, voice oozing mock concern, “it's our business.”

“Yeah,” said the largest, wearing a massive camouflage jacket and jabbing a thick finger at the briefcase “We gotta make sure you ain't got nothin' dangerous to the community in there.”

“And,” the leader again, “make sure we get a share!” A grin spread over half his face.

“Yeah? Well, you're not getting what's in here.” Sojiro snapped. “This was flown in special, and I paid a lot of my own money for it, so I'm not wasting an ounce on you!”

The words sank in, and Sojiro cringed.

_Shit. Why did I say it like that?_

The leader's grin swelled. “Oohhhhhh-ho-ho-ho!” he laughed, “we got some of that good _imported_ shit, do we?” He glanced at his partners, jerked his head at Sojiro. All three started slinking down the alley in unison. “If that's so, then we'll be taking it off your hands, my friend!”

“Don't worry,” added the small one, flicking open a switchblade, “we'll get you your _cut_ of the profits...”

“If you don't hand it over,” the large one finished, cracking his knuckles, “you'll get it a lot sooner...”

Sojiro's mind raced. _Damn it, Sakura, you screwed yourself with this one. They don't look smart, but there's three of them and they're armed. What the hell are you gonna do next?_

He backed further away. The gang came closer. Every second cut off his escape route more and more...

Then a random wild idea blinked into Sojiro's brain. He scoffed at himself.

_Sakura, that's the dumbest thing you could do right now. But, desperate times..._

“Alright already!” Sojiro stood still and raised his hands. The trio stopped. “Take the damn case. Do what you want with it.” He held the briefcase out to them.

The leader beamed at his friends and swaggered over. “You see, guys? All you need to get some respect from the elderly (Sojiro's eye twitched again) is a little common understan--”

He swiped at the briefcase, but it was now out of his reach. Presently, it was swinging through the air directly into his head.

Sojiro felt the impact through the handle into his arm, but the rattling of the contents inside made him wince more. The leader fell to the side, yelling and cursing. The other two were frozen, too shocked to move. Only one of them tried to snag their victim's suit jacket as he slipped past them into the alley.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid! Why'd you get yourself into this in the first place, Sakura?! You were done, you had what you came for, you just had to leave and wait for your train! But you had to play tourist, didn't you?!_

Briefcase tight against his chest, Sojiro sprinted through the narrow back streets. He took corners at random, right, then left, then right again, trying to weave a path away from the thugs.

_Where the hell am I, anyway?! I need to get back to that main street, what was it...? Nakamichi! That one! Plenty of people, maybe a police officer!_

He reached another intersection, identical to one he'd left behind

_God, this place is a damn maze!_

Sojiro rounded a corner, and slammed into a wall. His head pounded as he staggered back; his foot slipped in a puddle, and he fell, legs flailing, onto the concrete. Dazed and dizzy, his back damp and aching, Sojiro blinked, adjusted his glasses, and sat up to face the wall.

But the wall had stepped out of the alley and was staring at him with dark, narrowed eyes. The wall looked massive, easily half-a-head taller than Sojiro on his feet. The wall wore a gray suit a few years out of style, with a deep red dress shirt underneath. The wall had a slicked-back mane of dark hair, and a hard, defined face.

_Another one? Oh, this is perfect..._

“I told your friends back there you're not taking this!” he yelled, curling around the briefcase, “So back off!”

The wall, now clearly a person, stepped back, raised a heavy eyebrow.

“Huh? What are you talking about?” His voice was deep, but very confused.

Three sets of footsteps thudded behind them; the would-be robbers were here. The big one was gasping, the little one was panting, and the leader was pissed.

“Hey, big guy!” He called to the newcomer, wiping a trail of blood from his temple, “this one's ours! We ain't in the mood to share, so butt out before we bust you up too!”

Sojiro looked from the tall man to the trio. He was completely outnumbered, boxed in, and already on the ground. Clocking the leader had sealed his fate, and now he was out of time to run from it. He'd likely be beaten, and if the beating didn't kill him, the stabs from the little guy would. They'd run off with the case, maybe get pissed when they learn what's in it, but they'd still leave his corpse out here in the alley for some other lost citizen to find. And that, he knew, would be that: the life story of Sojiro Sakura, killed by his own curiosity and lack of direction. Nothing more to say, and no way to avoid it. Moreover, no need to hold on the case anymore; it was practically theirs already, a waste of money he'd never need again anyway. Why not just let them have it?

But, out of either sheer indignation at the circumstances, or plain stubbornness, he refused to give up.

“I told you already,” he said through gritted teeth, “you're not touching any of this! I paid for it, I need it, and I'm keeping it!” The young man wrapped his arms around the case and hugged it tight, the water soaking through his clothes mixing with his clammy sweat. He expected fists and kicks and stabs to rain down on him, and strong arms to rip the case from his dying body. All his fault, and all over something as worthless and stupid as--

"Here."

Sojiro looked up. The stranger was looking at him, speaking to him. His hand was stretched out to Sojiro. His face was stoic, solid and unexpressive, like flesh-toned granite, but his eyes...his eyes...

Something glinted behind those eyes. At first it was a spark, a tiny gleam in an wide, dark space. Then it grew stronger, like a match striking off. While Sojiro stared, he remembered an old physics lecture from high school. The teacher had mentioned potential energy, the "storing up" motion of any action: compressing a spring, raising a hammer, pulling back a fist.

This guy was storing up for something big.

One arm clutching the case, Sojiro grabbed the man's hand. He was pulled to his feet; it made him feel like a bale of straw being lifted and heaved around. He watched Sojiro steady himself, then spoke. “Nakamichi is just around the corner. You shouldn't have to look long to find a cop. I'll take care of them until you get back. Got it?”

Sojiro stared blankly. This guy looked like he was getting ready to punch through a brick wall, he probably could too, and he was...helping him?

The big man's brow twitched. “Do you get it?” He sounded testier than before. Ignoring him would only make it worse.

Sojiro nodded shakily, but he didn't run. He quietly stepped back, pressing flat against the wall. The stranger nodded back, turned to the trio, and walked forward.

“Hey, _punk_!” the leader called, tensed and hunched like an angry rat on its hind legs, “Didn't you hear me?!”

The stranger stopped in front of him. “I think you're the one who's deaf.” He spoke calmly, completely measured; that energy he was storing was totally invisible. “He's not giving you his briefcase or anything in it. Get lost.”

The leader's eyes bulged out and his bloody face went redder. His teeth looked ready to crack from grinding on each other.

“Stuck-up _prick_!” he hissed. “Thinkin' you can talk to me like that!” He jabbed a finger into the the stranger's chest. He barely moved.

“Last warning,” the stranger said, still calm, still controlled. “Back off. Now.”

Behind him, both of Sojiro's arm wrapped around his briefcase to stop from shaking against the wall. Down to his bones he felt the change in the air; it was buzzing, alive with tension radiating like heat from a flame off of the man's broad shoulders. He didn't show it, but that spark in his eyes was now burning over his entire body. Flat against the wall, Sojiro asked himself:

_What the hell is this guy?!_

“Aw, shut up!” The leader whined. He shot a white-knuckled fist up to the stranger's jaw.

Less than a second. That was all the time he had before impact. It took him less than that to change his stance completely: shoulders squared, knees bent, right foot behind him, left foot planted. He arched backwards. The thug's fist sailed past its target. By the time he recovered, it was too late to react.

That potential energy had already been released.

_WHAM-WHAM-WHAM!_

Three punches, right-left-right, flew into the leader's face. Behind him, his friends flinched at each blow. He stumbled back, dizzy, half-blind, but too pissed to be knocked down. Blood dribbled out of his swelling nose, and he spat a thick mouthful of it on the ground. He screamed, _"GET HIS ASS!"_. The others held back; they weren't blind with rage, and they knew the stranger was still ready for another attack. But like loyal soldiers, they charged, flanking their leader. Part of Sojiro understood what they were thinking: it was three against one. He might get some good hits in, maybe even knock one down. But between their leader's anger, the big one's mass, and the little one's knife, they could take him. How much trouble could one guy be?

Thirty seconds later, that part of Sojiro shut itself up. The leader was the only one left conscious, half-curled on the ground, writhing, groaning, clutching his jaw with one hand and his stomach with the other. The big one lay on his back a few feet away, surrounded by parts of what used to be a nearby bicycle twenty seconds earlier; still breathing, but he'd be out until sunrise at least. As for the little one, his legs now hung out of a pile of trash on the left side of the intersection. From the way he screamed, Sojiro assumed his switchblade had jammed into his thigh before the stranger swung him through the air one-handed, and let him fly.

For as long as the fight had lasted, Sojiro stared wide-eyed and slack-jawed at the man. Right now, he was stretching out his arms, cracking his neck and knuckles, adjusting his flared collar. A full-blown three-to-one street brawl he ended in under a minute, and he treated it like some light exercise, maybe a little warm-up. Trembling more than ever, Sojiro asked again:

_What_ IS _this guy?!_

He turned around. Sojiro shrank back against the wall, holding his briefcase even tighter.

“Hey, I told you to find someone.” His tone was more annoyed than angry, and as Sojiro calmed down, he noticed the man's posture was more relaxed too. That fire that had coursed over his body was gone; his eyes were normal again, dark, clear, and surprisingly calming.

_You needed help?!_ , Sojiro wanted to say, but chose not to. “Sorry,” he pushed his heart out of his throat to reply, “I...couldn't move.”

_Nice one, Sakura. Make yourself sound like a coward in front of_ this _guy._

“Most people know you don't talk back to the gangs, or walk into alleys at night, especially when you have something to take.” The stranger's expression didn't change, but Sojiro still had to look away, embarrassed. “You don't live around here, do you?”

Sojiro cleared his throat. “No, no. I live down in Meguro. I made a detour here on my way home.”

“Meguro...” The stranger tugged back his sleeve (somehow spotless after the fight), revealing a silver wristwatch with a black leather strap. _He treats fights like they're nothing and wears a watch like that?!_ , Sojiro thought. _He must be crazy._

“The last train doesn't leave for another half-hour,” he said, reading the watch. “If you leave now, you can catch a taxi on Showa Street and make it to the station in time.” He looked up from the watch, back to Sojiro. His eyes scanned him up and down; it was a little uncomfortable. “Are you sure you can find your way there?”

“Hey, I'm not a total idiot,” Sojiro protested, “It's just a walk down the street. How bad could it be?”

“If you're asking that,” the stranger replied flatly, “you really don't know Kamurocho.”

Sojiro shut his mouth. He had a point. “Fine,” Sojiro said dryly, “I call uncle. I underestimated this place, it's a dangerous hellhole big-city types like me can't handle. Now what do I do?”

The stranger was already walking by the time Sojiro finished. “Just follow me,” he said, and gently shouldered past.

Sojiro watched him walk away. He didn't have much reason to trust this guy. Sure, he'd helped him with the gang, even wanted him out of harm's way before the fight started, but if the district was as dangerous as he said, so dangerous that just walking down the street and looking like you had money to spare was too risky to do alone, why should Sojiro trust him? How did he know he wasn't gonna lead him to some friends around the corner? Or maybe just turn around and knock him down on his own? Three men couldn't stop him; one alone would be like an ant on the sidewalk.

“Hey!” The strangers shouted from the corner. “Unless you want to spend the night here, hurry up!”

Sojiro jumped at the voice. The man still wasn't angry, just irritable that someone wasn't listening. Unless he was secretly a fantastic actor, he sounded genuine, like he really wanted to get him out safe. Standing and thinking for a little longer, Sojiro realized that while he didn't have much reason to trust the giant man, he could still use a guide, and had too few options right now to be picky. He'd have to take his chances. Finally, briefcase tucked safely under his arm, Sojiro jogged down the alley to where the stranger waited for him.

\----------------------

Back in the glittering lights of Nakamichi: glaring neon signs, pop songs blaring from every storefront, pedestrians buffeting each other, barkers calling out their respective clubs and bars. It wasn't to Sojiro's tastes; he always preferred a night in with something to read or listen to. But it was crowded, it was bright, and it didn't have bands of thugs hunting him, so it was perfect. The stone-faced street brawler striding next to him was awkward at first, but Sojiro had to admit, he felt safer with the man nearby than anywhere else. With someone like him showing the way out, the investment sitting in his briefcase might have a chance to pay off.

_Speaking of, I hit that creep pretty hard. Better check if the goods made it out alright..._

Sojiro pulled out the case, clicked open the latches, and cracked the lid to peek inside. Everything was in place: no leaks, no spills, no damage. He closed the case, relieved. Then he glanced up at his guide. The stranger was already looking down at him, and his expression was finally different, almost, and Sojiro could hardly believe it, worried.

“Um,” he looked around the crowded street nervously, “it's none of my business what you have in there, but whatever it is, I wouldn't show it in public. Someone...” he scanned the crowd again for a blue uniform, “someone might get the wrong idea.”

“What?” Then Sojiro remembered the thug leader's reaction to the case, and what this would look like to someone from the outside. At that, maybe from lingering nerves or how relaxed he felt in the open, Sojiro broke out laughing. Pedestrians in both directions walked around them, avoided eye contact, thinking he was another drunk businessman celebrating a sale or nursing a loss. The stranger became even more worried.

“I-hahahaha! I think--*Cough! Cough!*” Sojiro cleared his throat as his laughter finally wore out. “You have the wrong idea, pal. Look at this.” He pulled his guide out of the crowd, stopped by a store window. While the other man looked totally lost, Sojiro, his dark eyes bright, held the briefcase out, and opened it wide.

The stranger stared into the case. “Are those--?”

“Yeah,” Sojiro said breathlessly, “the absolute top quality, some of the finest blends and origins in the world. I talked the guy down and it still cost me a week's salary.”

Sojiro watched nervously as the man reached in, lifted up a small glass vial with a piece of tape marked with scratchy handwriting. He shook the vial gently, listened to the contents rattle against the glass. Slowly, he put it back down, and stared at Sojiro in disbelief.

“You were gonna give your life,” he said haltingly, “for beans?”

Sojiro snapped the case shut. “Didn't you hear me?' He asked, shocked and offended. “These are the best of the best! The finest, richest, most varied coffee beans you can find! Hell, I think some of them, most people don't know about. Probably why they were so dear, even un-roasted...”

Re-stowing the case, the two men merged back into the foot traffic. “So,” the stranger asked, “why come to Kamurocho for them? Wasn't there anywhere safer you could pick them up?”

Sojiro shook his head. “I looked forever,” he replied, “called every place I could. No one had what I wanted, and I almost gave up before I found just the right guy. He wasn't keen on telling how he got 'em, but that didn't matter. We worked out the price over the phone, but he would only meet me here for the pick-up. If you ask me,” Sojiro glanced around, leaned closer to the stranger, “he might've had some yakuza ties. Smuggling, black market, that kinda thing. Not something I'd usually support, but since I was running dry on options, and with how pricey this kind of import can be...” He shrugged, nearly dropped his case out from his arm, and scrambled to grab it. Straightening up, Sojiro swore the stranger had muttered, “Are we doing that kind of smuggling now?”

“What's that?”

“N-nothing.” He looked straight ahead. “I didn't say anything...”

_Hmm. Maybe it was someone else..._

“I still don't get why these beans are worth risking your life.” The stranger changed the subject. “You don't look like you own a coffeehouse or anything.”

Sojiro laughed, and said. “Nah. Not yet, anyway. Right now, it's kind of a hobby. Well, was a hobby, before I got dared into taking it to the extreme.”

“Dared?”

“Well...” Sojiro paused. He'd already said more about this than he'd ever said to anyone else, even the guy who sold him the beans. Why not drop the subject here? Oversharing was something he hated from most people, barring one, so ranting on about something this silly would be embarrassing and pointless. The stranger certainly didn't look like he cared; he kept his eyes ahead, his mouth flat like a chiseled line, sometimes turning his head to watch Sojiro as he spoke. Nothing in his expression told Sojiro the stranger had a real interest in his story.

If that was the case, though, why did he keep asking questions? He could've dropped the conversation and led Sojiro to the end of the street in silence after seeing inside the briefcase; he'd gotten his answer, as weird as it was, and didn't need to know anymore. But he still asked more about what he saw, and if anything, he sounded more curious than before he knew what Sojiro was carrying. Sojiro could understand why, you don't see men risking a painful back-alley death over coffee beans every day, but beyond that, the stranger may be curious because, and this was hardest to believe, he was actually interested. Day after day of the same dull small-talk, current events, pop culture slop, vague questions about each others' lives, and here was another person who truly seemed to care, who was bothering to actually listen.

_Wonder if this is how she feels when we talk..._

“Well,” Sojiro continued, “a...friend, from work, noticed how much I talked about beans and roasts and blends and everything, so she pushed me into a dare.”

“To do what?”

Smirking, Sojiro said, “'To make the best cup of coffee in the world'. Her exact words. It's not too much of a dare, to be honest. She's helping me with it, but I've helped with her little passion project, so it's only fair.”

“What's her project?”

“Curry. By now, it's as much mine as her's, but she started it and roped me in.” Sojiro shook his head softly and smiled. “It's amazing she makes any time for it with how much she has on her plate. Or,” he caught himself, and reeled from the accidental pun, “ _not_ on her plate, I suppose...sorry, that was terrible.” He stopped talking, wondering if the stranger would react to a line that bad.

The stranger didn't laugh, but the corners of his mouth lifted a little. “It looks like that dedication wore off on you, since you went so far to protect those beans.”

“Yeah,” Sojiro chuckled. He stayed quiet for a moment, let the noise of Nakamichi Street surround him. That kind of big city chatter usually drove him crazy; now it felt like a cocoon, barely noticeable while he looked inward, truly thought about this whole dare and everything he'd done as part of it for the first time. It all sounded ridiculous to him now, but still...

“Y'know,” he finally said, “it's kinda funny. If you told me a few weeks ago I'd go this far for something this small, I'd think you were crazy. I didn't care this much at the beginning; I just kept with it to stop my friend from bugging me. But then...then I started _caring_. I liked researching blends, learning how to work a roaster, finding the differences between grinds, writing down the perfect water temperatures for each blend, for God's sake!” Sojiro laughed briefly. “I write down notes and figures for a living every day, but doing something that dull in my spare time actually made me...well, _happy_. It's like I finally had something _real_ I could work on, something with a purpose behind it. And once my friend started helping me out, I wanted to go even further, do whatever I could to make the time _we_ put into this whole thing worth it. So,” he shrugged, more carefully this time, “here I am. Crazy, isn't it?”

“...not at all.”

The stranger's voice was different: softer, kinder, not just mildly curious but fully invested. Before Sojiro could respond, the stranger said, “You found a passion, just like your friend and her curry. It's something you want to work on for its own sake, not because you're paid to do it, or other people want you to. And better yet, you can share it with someone who enjoys it like you do. It doesn't matter how small it is. It's yours, and you want to keep moving forward with it. There's nothing crazy about that.”

Once he'd finished, Sojiro, stunned and silent, looked up at the stranger...

...and he was smiling. It was still subtle, not an open-mouthed grin, but it was warm and earnest; absolutely, unflinchingly genuine. Sojiro nearly stopped dead on the sidewalk, it was so unbelievable. This was the guy who, less than ten minutes ago, was tearing through an angry and violent group of street thugs; now, he looked like a gentle father listening to his child talk about their day, and giving them advice about a problem they had. The difference made him a little uncomfortable, but it was impossible to be completely upset by it. Sure, it was a disturbingly extreme shift, but it felt so gradual, and so real, that Sojiro had to smile too.

“That doesn't mean you need to get yourself killed over it,” the stranger said. His voice returned to normal, but his smile was still there. “It might mean everything to you, but you can't move it forward if you're dead.”

Sojiro rolled his eyes. “Heh. Yeah, I know, I know...”

\-------------------------

Finally at the taxis, Sojiro turned around at the open car door. “I should've said this earlier,” he admitted with a grin, “but...thanks. You really did save my life back there.”

The stranger shook his head. “Don't thank me. Just be more careful if there's a next time.”

“If there is,” Sojiro replied, “I will. Don't worry.”

At that, the stranger turned and started back up Nakamichi with a hand in his pocket, and Sojiro climbed into the backseat of the cab. Suddenly, he froze, half in the car, earning a sleepy-eyed but disapproving stare from the driver. Sojiro pulled himself back out and looked at the man who stood head-and-shoulders above everyone around him.

“Hey, you!” He yelled over the crowd between them. Thankfully, the stranger heard him, and half-turned to the cab.

“My name's Sakura, by the way! Sojiro Sakura!”

The stranger listened closely; Sojiro wondered if he had heard him yell, until the man loudly replied:

“I'm Kiryu. Kazuma Kiryu.”

“Well, Mr. Kiryu,” Sojiro shouted back. “If I see you again someday, remember: your first cup's on me!” He raised his briefcase, and gave it a gentle shake.

Kiryu half-smiled back. “I'll try to.” With a wave goodbye, he carried on back into the bustling district ahead of him. Sojiro watched him a little longer; he wanted to remember what the man looked like in case they met again. A gentle, insistent _“Sir”_ from the driver pulled Sojiro away, and he remembered he was in a hurry. Climbing inside the car, Sojiro settled into the seat as the taxi merged into traffic, his wet jacket stinging his back, and the briefcase secured in his lap. He glanced down at it again, and chuckled to himself.

_What a wild night, Sakura. And what a weird guy._

_But not a bad one. Not at all._

_I hope I meet him again. Especially after I start experimenting with some of these._

_Which should I go for first? The Yirgacheffe looks great, but I like the sound of that Hawaiian Kona..._

Soon, Sojiro Sakura was already planning out his next few stages of coffee research, and all thoughts of friendly-neighborhood street brawlers were tossed out of his mind like a scrawny, tiny punk hurtling into a pile of garbage.


	2. Return and Rescue (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Would'ja look at that! I'm not dead!
> 
> This took forever to revamp, revise, actually draft, so eventually I just decided to split it in two so I can give you guys something while I finish the...first chapter...of God knows how many...
> 
> Part Two shouldn't take as long...I hope...
> 
> NOTE: part of what took me so long was dealing with a VERY serious subject matter I'm still not sure I'm qualified to handle. If I didn't get it right, please find it in your hearts to forgive me.

_April 15th, 2017_

_Aoyama-Itchome, Minato, Tokyo_

Climbing out of the subway station, Kazuma Kiryu lit up a cigarette. He dragged deep, and blew the smoke up into the cool morning air. He watched it swirl and fade into the overcast sky, and listened to the sound of Tokyo keeping its blistering pace in the distance. The sun struggled to break through; an iron blanket held it back, and everything was cast in an overwhelming shroud of gray, not out-of-the-ordinary for April.

_Looks like rain,_ Kiryu thought, and took another drag. After the crowded train ride, it tasted nice, and it tasted even better knowing someone wasn't about to snatch it from his lips and chide him for it. But he'd stopped too early; the thin crowd trickling out of the subway bumped into him, shot angry stares his way as they passed. Pocketing his lighter in his hoodie, Kiryu followed the stream of people into the district.

Where was he headed? He didn't really know; Minato Ward wasn't familiar to him. The big industries and embassies that made up the Ward weren't terribly interesting, and the Family that owned it rarely edged in on Dojima business or turf. Over the years he'd lived and worked around Tokyo, Kiryu never had a reason to drop by this particular ward. Now, on the last day of his first visit to the city in four years, with a few hours to kill before his plane back to Okinawa, he wandered from district to district, touring the unfamiliar, seeing what each of them had to see in the little time he had. It was strange playing tourist in a city he'd spent years close to, but it was what he'd come here to do, and he didn't know when he'd be coming back.

Head held high, Kiryu strode down walls of plain buildings and empty alleyways, ash trickling from his cigarette. By this time of day, most pedestrians were already at work, but a few still dotted the street, heading one way or the other. The ones that passed Kiryu gave him the same glares as the people around the subway; they picked up their paces, muttering to themselves “how disgusting”, how “unbelievable” it was that he had the nerve to _smoke_ in _public_. Empty complaints, but backed with that kind of righteous indignation you find out on the street, the kind that says “I'm offended, and I hope someone who'll do something about it is offended too”. Invariably, that person never comes, and no one does anything.

Kiryu ignored them. He kept striding down the street, taking long, steady drags and spouting smoke high above any of the grumbling busybodies. _Don't remember so many of them before,_ he thought, watching another one wrinkle her nose like Kiryu was an extremely-potent human lemon. _Must've been another public health campaign while I was gone. Now everyone's panicking over what everyone else is doing, no matter how much it really bothers anyone..._

Nursing his smoke, and lost in thought, he started walking on auto-pilot. The sidewalk was long, straight, and mostly empty; little risk of a collision, though someone with Kiryu's build would take much more to knock down than most.

_What else has changed since I left? A few old shops closed. That big company bought out Smile Burger and re-branded their stores. “Big Bang Burger”...I don't like it as much. The food's still alright, but the service is worse. Those kids at the registers didn't look so good..._

_And then there's those “shutdowns” the news mentioned. I've seen people drop dead from drugs or heart attacks, but never anything like this before. I won't even try to understand how they happen, but they definitely made it riskier to move around the city..._

_I heard Akiyama moved back to Kamurocho. Sky's Osaka branch did well enough to let him hire some new managers, so he could afford to be more “hands-off”. Heh. Hana should be_ thrilled _..._

Kiryu caught himself rounding a corner, and snapped back to the world. Cigarette down to the filter, he flicked it into the gutter. In front of him was the local high school, a straight shot and a turn from the station. Grey stone slats made up its face, broken up by grimy-looking windows. Above the main door, a numberless clock kept the time: quarter to eleven. Ventilation hummed on the roof, and air-conditioning units shuddered from the windows. As far as Kiryu could see, it was a perfectly normal school building. He followed the low concrete wall surrounding the building, and came to a sign above the neatly-trimmed shrubs planted around the perimeter.

_Shujin Academy..._

He paused, blinked, and read it again. That couldn't be right...

_Shujin...like “Prisoner”...?_

The characters weren't the same, and it had to mean something else, but there was no other way to pronounce it: Prisoner Academy. It sounded like a bad joke, something the students came up with, spreading and sticking among the kids, but no one thought to make it the official name. In this case, apparently someone did.

_Huh. Creepy name..._

_Better get moving..._

He turned, and started walking back to the main street. It was just a wrong turn, nothing more.

Behind him, a door opened.

“Alright, coast's clear.”

“Kazu, don't!”

Kiryu ignored the voices, a smarmy boy's and a nervous girl's, whispering urgently. If they wanted to cut school, that was their problem, not his.

“C'mon, Mari! We won't get in trouble, I promise.”

“We can't, Kazu! Someone's gonna find out!”

“So what? As soon as she drops, they're gonna cancel class anyway. No one's gonna know we ducked out early.”

Kiryu froze.

_Drops...?_

“That's _horrible_! How can you say it like that?!”

“Hey, I don't know her! And I didn't put her up there! Why is it my problem?”

“Because she's...she's...”

As the girl tried to find her words, Kiryu backed up, stood by the low wall and faced the other side of the alley, acting casual. He lit another cigarette, and listened.

“So, you comin' or not?”

“No...no! I'm not going! You're _awful_ , Kazu! I don't wanna see you again!”

“...fine! Have fun cleaning up what's left, ya prissy little--!”

The door slammed, cutting him off. Kiryu heard angry mumbling, footsteps, someone grunting. A pair of plaid-clad legs sailed over the fence, and a shaggy-looking boy in a black-and-red jacket dropped neatly onto the pavement. He glanced back at the school, snickered, and began to strut down the alley, full of himself and, no doubt, feeling invincible.

“Hey, kid,” Kiryu called, and the boy nearly tripped over his feet. Deflating, he stiffly half-turned, and Kiryu saw the boy's look of annoyed smugness wash away into shaking, wild-eyed fear.

“Wh-wh-who're...y-you?!” He managed to sputter out.

“I'm...” Kiryu thought of a good answer. “I'm the local Truant Officer. You'll be in big trouble if you don't tell me what's happening in there.” He'd never met a Truant Officer before, so his impression was totally off-the-cuff. Fortunately, the boy was terrified enough to not ask questions. Kiryu was relieved.

When the boy answered him, that relief dropped out through Kiryu's stomach.

“Th-there's a girl on the roof! We think sh-she's gonna jump!”

_“What?!”_

“Everyone got distracted, so I thought I'd sneak out with my friendandididn'tthinkanyonewouldsee _usdon'thurtmepleasedon't--!”_

Kiryu crossed the few feet between them and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Enough about that!” He roared. “How do I get to the roof?!”

The boy blinked rapidly and stared up at Kiryu's face. “G-go inside, take a left! It's the second stairway, all the way--!”

Kiryu bolted before he could finish. Vaulting over the gate, he tore down the walkway, flung the door wide, raced around the corner past an empty front desk. Students filled the hall, heading, some slowly, some quickly, around the next corner. The stairway was at the end of the hall, and it was also packed.

“MOVE!”

The crowd parted. Kiryu charged through them, brushing them aside as he rushed to the stairway. The current of students was heavy and strong, but he didn't have the time to wait.

“GET BACK!”

At his voice, they pressed against the walls, letting him sprint through them, up the stairs. Around the corner, up another flight, onto the next floor, around another corner, up again. Kiryu only glimpsed the second and third floors; more students poured out of their classrooms, heading down the hall or to the stairs, only to jump out of his way. He heard questions and yells, anger and confusion.

By the time the rooftop door was in sight, the pounding of his heart drowned out everything else.

_Don't be too late..._

_Do_ not _be too late...!_

\----------------------

Despite where she stood, and what she planned to do, Shiho felt utterly calm

The wind tugged at her ponytail, rolled around her skirt. Way outside the school walls, she saw the far rooftops of Minato, stony and cold and cast in the same gray light as everything else. Below her, she heard voices, urgently whispering, wondering. Waiting.

That morning, she'd made her choice, though it was barely one; with no other option but to suffer alone, ending it was all she could do.

She couldn't run anymore. She couldn't dwell on it any longer. If she didn't do it now, she'd never have a chance to be free from the agony. She needed to act.

Shiho closed her eyes, tasted the dry city air one last time. Her resolve pushing her onward, she prepared to step out into the open air.

Into comfortable nothing...

The door crashed open.

“STOP!”

Shiho's body seized, her usual response to a yell. Frozen on the rim, she stood like a painted statue, trembling faintly in the breeze. As her shock wore off, she heard slow, heavy footsteps approaching.

“St-stay back!” Shiho cried.

The footsteps stopped, and the same voice, closer and calmer than before, replied, “Alright. I won't move.”

Shiho had dreaded this: some stranger, one of those “good samaritans”, running to her before she fell, trying to talk her down, give her hope. 

She didn't want hope; she wanted the man to leave.

“Hey, what's your name?

Clearly, he didn't plan on leaving.

“Go away...”

“Tell me your name first. Then...I'll think about it.”

Shiho frowned. Out of everyone to chose to get involved, it had to be the one who was compassionate _and_ stubborn. He was starting to remind her of someone.

Eventually, the girl mumbled, “...Shiho...”

The man hummed gently. “Shiho? That's a nice name. Mine's Kiryu”.

As 'Kiryu' spoke, the tones of his voice surprised Shiho: deep but very warm, comforting, almost fatherly. He sounded so uncompromisingly genuine; she grew uneasy, her stomach twisting up into knots, and she didn't know why.

“Shiho, what happened?”

She ignored him.

“It's alright. You can tell me.”

Shiho scoffed bitterly under her breath. “Doesn't matter if I tell you...you can't do anything, just...” her voice caught; she swallowed hard against it. “Just leave me alone...”

“...You're sure about that?”

“About what?”

“About how it doesn't matter if you tell me what's wrong. About how I can't help you. You think I can't, but maybe I'll disagree. I won't know unless you tell me.”

“But...but what if I'm right?”

“Then I can't help. But either way, I won't leave you up here, Shiho. I wasn't gonna as soon as I came through that door.”

That stubbornness...it did remind her of someone, one of the only people in her life who was that driven to care.

Why did this total stranger care just as much?

“You don't know me,” she wondered out loud. “You don't have any reason to help...”

“No, I guess not.”

“So...why?”

Silence.

Was he thinking, or was there no answer?

“Because you were up here, and I can't let you jump. Just like I told you.” Kiryu said it matter-of-factly, like it was the most obvious answer in the world, like there was no other reason anyone could have. From his voice, Shiho knew he meant it.

It was almost a sick joke: someone with real kindness finally finds her, reaches out and gets through to her, right when she's made her choice. Did she want to reach back, let him pull her to safety?

But would anywhere be “safe” anymore, with everything she had to carry, alone?

“Do you really want to jump, Shiho?”

The girl coughed, cleared her throat. “I...have to. There's nothing else I can do. I'm the only one wh-who c-c-can...” Shiho breathed deep. “...make it go away...”

“Is that true?”

It wasn't, and Shiho always knew it wasn't; she had people in her life, ones who mattered the most and cared more than anyone. Her mother, her father...

Her best friend.

The best friend who was already suffering at the same hands that tormented Shiho.

The best friend who her tormentor wanted to punish by doing what he did.

The best friend who would suffer even more once she learned what had happened the previous day...

Shiho's whole body shuddered in the lukewarm air. Her arms folded over her chest, and gripped each other tight.

“You aren't alone, are you?” Kiryu kept talking. “There are people who want to help you. They ask the same questions as me, don't they?

“I can't! I can't tell them either!” Shiho cried, choking out the words. “If I did...” she panted as the air stung the cold sweat on her skin. “...they'd end up like me, just... _miserable,_ and... _useless_. I...I couldn't do that to them...”

She trailed off, and the only sounds were the voices below and the drone of the ventilation around them. Shiho knew Kiryu had heard her, but she didn't know when he'd speak again. Was this the right time to...?

“...so, you just keep it all to yourself?”

“Huh?”

“Shiho, take a second and think. You tell yourself this is your only choice, but you can't see any others. That weight on your shoulders is blinding you. It makes you think you're useless and miserable; it keeps everything else out, even the better choices, all the ways you can make it lighter. If you told someone else about it, made it lighter, you'd see you have so many more choices than...this.”

Shiho slowly considered his words. He was right; it was a weight, crushing her, holding her down. But the thought of forcing someone else to bear it was...sickening, selfish. Cruel.

“If I t-tell someone...” she tried to repeat.

“Then yeah, they'll hurt, same as you,” Kiryu finished. “And that means they care about you, Shiho. People always hurt for the ones they care about, and they'll stick with them until it doesn't hurt as much. It's what people do.”

Like a bullet, his emphasis pierced her. His answer was so simple, embarrassingly simple, she was ashamed it never came to her. At the same time, it was almost too simple for what she was going through.

“If...if I tell them...” she asked weakly, “are you sure they'll...stay with me...?”

Except for the droning, silence. Then, Kiryu sighed.

“Like you said, I don't know what's bothering you, so I don't know how serious it is, and I don't know how anyone else will take it. I'm asking a lot, but I need you to trust me for know. Can you?”

Shiho, aching from standing so still for so long, glanced down at the busy courtyard, and then out over the distant city. It looked brighter than before; still a heavy gray, but more sun was starting to break through the clouds, and parts of the world around her shone in the new light. After another moment, she had an answer.

“...I t-trust you...”

When Kiryu replied, she nearly heard a smile in his voice.

“Do you want to come back in?”

Silence.

“...yes.”

“Good. I'll meet you at the gap. Is that okay?”

“...ok.”

It was a long way back, longer than the way out, and it finally sank in how high up she was. Carefully, Shiho sidled and shuffled along the ledge, eyes screwed shut, gripping the chain link fence tight. One uneven step at a time, legs shaking, she pulled herself forward, closer to the wall and the gap in the fence. Deep down, she knew the real challenge would come later: forcing herself to tell her story, and even partly relive all of that pain. But right now, Shiho just needed to get back to the roof, so that future struggle was far from her mind.

She was close to the gap; she could see it, with a vague human shape on the other side. Almost there. Just a few more feet.

The longer she stayed out here, the more nervous Shiho felt. She stepped wider, tried to move faster. She stepped too wide, and her right leg came down wrong. Pain shot through her knee, wrapped in a black sleeve. Hissing, her body stiffened and lurched forward. Once the pain faded, she realized the fence had slipped out from her fingers.

Like an amateur gymnast, Shiho teetered on the concrete lip; her arms flailed, too far from the fence to grab hold. Too far out to re-balance, too stunned to move backwards, still conscious enough to see over the ledge at all the faces below, some looking away, some frozen, some screaming.

There was no time to think, to dwell on the sick irony. There wasn't even time to scream.

So there also wasn't time for her to realize she was suddenly hurtling _backwards_ , not until she slammed against the fence, the links clanging in her ears. The lingering throbbing in her knee was all Shiho felt; for everything else, it was like slipping on a wet floor, when the whole world turns and you're left reeling as your brain catches up. A gentle, insistent tug on her arm told her that there was a grip around her wrist.

Shiho almost struggled, but she quickly realized who was holding her, and that fighting against him would put her back in trouble. She followed his grip, stumbling over the edge, but her feet found solid ground, back from the open ledge. Kiryu let her go; she tottered on her own, looking up at her rescuer, numbly taking him in: a tall man, powerfully built with strong features, simply dressed in a hoodie and jeans. His eyes were dark and clear, and she saw a glint of fear fading out of them. Unusual and unexpected, but at the moment, that didn't occur to Shiho.

“Sorry,” Kiryu said quietly. “I had to act fast. You alright?”

Shiho half-turned, glanced down at the courtyard; the students were wandering off, some lingering, watching the roof. The space right below where she would've fallen was still empty, still a haunting reminder of what might've happened.

“I almost...” she mumbled. “I could've...”

Her legs wobbled, and finally gave out. Shiho's vision blurred, and the air rushed past her ears as she collapsed...


	3. Return and Rescue (Part 2)

Shiho collapsed, and Kiryu rushed in to catch her. She fell into his arms, still conscious but barely able to stop herself. Her breath was ragged, she felt clammy, and her arms hung limply at her sides.

_She's in shock. Too much to handle at once..._

Kiryu held her carefully, keeping her head straight. He finally saw her face: very pale, framed by black hair held back in a ponytail. Not an unusual look, but to Kiryu, it was familiar. Vacant brown eyes stared up, but not at him. They were unfocused, still reeling from her near-fall.

“Hey.” He gently shook her. “Can you hear me?”

Shiho mumbled vaguely. She wasn't in danger, but she still needed a doctor, and soon. Kiryu swung her up in both arms. Maybe someone had already called an ambulance, or maybe a school nurse could check her in the meantime. Either way, she needed to get off this roof.

That's when he noticed her right arm, pressed against his chest.

_What the hell...?_

Below the sleeve of her uniform, her elbow was heavily bandaged, only exposed by her rolled-up sleeve. Kiryu looked her over; the odd sleeve on her right knee, the one that had buckled under her, was a kind of leg brace, black and wrapped tight around the joint. He spotted strange light patches, cracked like heavy makeup, on her calves and thighs, and a large one on her face as well.

_Makeup like that..._

_She's trying to cover something..._

His stomach turned as Shiho's breathing slowly softened, became fainter, peaceful. What had she been through?

Across the roof, Kiryu heard footsteps echoing up the stairwell. They grew louder and louder, until someone practically charged into the open.

“Shih—ah...!”

The new arrival was far from what Kiryu expected: she wore the school jacket and skirt, but she was white-skinned, shapely, full platinum twintails flowing over her shoulders. Even at this distance, he noticed her eyes, a clear sky-blue, wide open and watching him. She was clearly as surprised by him as Kiryu was by her.

_An exchange student, maybe?_

Shiho stirred. Her vacant look cleared, and she tilted her head to face the newcomer. Kiryu felt her heart skip a beat. Weakly, the girl whispered “Ann...” She strained to sit up in Kiryu's arms.

“Shiho!”

The girl at the door (Ann, he assumed), ran to them. Kiryu set Shiho down, holding her by the shoulders when her legs wobbled too much. She tried to reach out, but her arms were still too weak. Ann reached out mid-run, and pulled the girl from Kiryu's hands.

_Guess they're pretty close..._

“Shiho!” Ann cried, grasping at her friend's arms. “Are you ok?!”

“A-Ann...!” Shiho choked, her eyes fighting to stay on the other girl. Her shoulders jerked with faint sobs. Any words she tried to say were lost, or they were too hard to say while keeping herself together.

Finally, she broke down, and threw herself against Ann.

“I'm s-sorry!” She sobbed over Ann's shoulder, buried in her hair. “I'm s-so s-s-sorry! I was...s-s-so...s-s-st- _stupid...!_ ”

Ann flinched at first, but soon she wrapped her arms around Shiho, gently rubbing her back while she spluttered tearful apologies. “Shhhh,” Ann cooed, blinking back her own tears, “it's ok, it's ok, sweetheart...” She pulled Shiho into a tighter hug, and rested her head on her friend's shoulder.

Kiryu watched them, unsure of what to do or say, until he realized Ann was staring at him, very nervous, a little uncomfortable.

_Ah. I should give them some space._

He had barely walked two feet when more footsteps pounded up the stairwell.

“C'mon, man! Hurry!”

Another student, a boy, burst onto the roof, and another followed.

“Ann! Where's—whoa...!”

As soon as they saw Kiryu, both boys stopped. If Ann and Shiho were opposites, these two made them look like twins: the first boy was sloppy-looking, an eye-searing t-shirt blaring under his badly-creased school blazer. It matched his hair, rough-chopped and electric yellow. Behind him, the other boy was much neater, except for the curly black rat's nest on his head, with locks dangling over his large squarish glasses. All three watched each other for what felt like a very long, awkward moment. The blonde narrowed his eyes at Kiryu, glaring like he expected him to make a move. His friend's face was blank, eyes open but un-moving. He stared like someone analyzing rather than suspecting, taking in the unfamiliar, regarding it with curiosity instead of anxiety. It made Kiryu more uncomfortable than the suspicion.

The blonde half-circled Kiryu with an odd bow-legged shuffle, keeping his eyes on him, before finally heading for the girls.

“How is she?” He asked Ann.

Ann shook her head. “I can't tell. She doesn't look hurt, but...” She listened to Shiho's tears with a pained look. “We should still get her to a hospital. I called an ambulance already, it shouldn't be much longer...”

Away from them, Kiryu listened closely.

_Good. She'll get somewhere safe._

_I wonder how long it'll be until we can talk..._

_I should call Haruka..._

Kiryu made for the door again, but soon he stopped. The black-haired boy hadn't moved; he was still eyeing Kiryu. More and more he looked like a cat you'd lock eyes with in an alleyway. You don't know what it wants, or why it doesn't just turn away. It just sits and stares at you with that mildly curious gaze, like you're the one really being watched, studied, until one of you moves first. Kiryu almost opened his mouth before he realized Ann and the blonde boy were looking at him too.

“So,” the blonde muttered, “who's that guy?”

“I don't know,” Ann whispered back, “he was up here first. I found him carrying Shiho.”

“Huh...” The boy half-turned to his friend. “You know him, Ren?”

“Ren” glanced at the blonde, shook his head. His friend stayed fixed on Kiryu, and was about to speak before--

_“HEY!”_

Looking past Ren, the blonde yelled at the door. Someone yelped, and another boy leapt out from the door frame. Fixed in place, his deathly-pale face stammered and blinked rapidly, staring ahead at Shiho, leaning against Ann's shoulder. Kiryu saw the fading purplish blotch under the boy's eye, surrounded by scratches, a band-aid over his cheek, and, similar to Shiho, bandages around his wrist.

_Another one, injured, scared..._

The blonde boy lunged forward. The scrawny boy's face flashed with panic, and he immediately ran.

“Get back here!” The blonde called. He tore past at an awkward sprint, and vanished through the door. Ren watched him pass, glanced over at Ann, and nodded. He took a final curious look at Kiryu, then hurried after them. Their footsteps faded, and the roof was quiet again. In the new silence, Kiryu asked himself:

_What is going on at this school?_

“Shiho,” Ann said softly, “can you move OK?”

Shiho gingerly stuck out one leg, and set it down. It wobbled under her, but it held.

“Uh...uh-huh.”

Ann shifted Shiho's arm over her shoulder. “We're going downstairs. There's an ambulance coming for us. I'll be with you the whole way. Ok?” She smiled, warm but a little sad.

“Ok...but...”

Shiho looked to Kiryu, asking him a silent question. Ann followed, and her smile vanished. Kiryu stepped forward; Ann quickly pushed Shiho behind her, and those sky-blues glinted with worry.

“Excuse me,” Kiryu said, “I don't mean to interrupt, but...”

“Who are you?” Ann cut him off, tried to look taller in front of him. She turned from him to Shiho and back. “You...you helped her, didn't you? Before she could...” Ann shuddered and pulled Shiho closer.

“I asked Shiho to tell me what happened if she came back.” He turned to Shiho. “You still want to talk?” She nodded shakily.

“She still needs a doctor,” Ann said, half to herself, “and we can't keep the ambulance waiting...”

Kiryu knew what she meant; he'd been willing to wait until Shiho was settled at the hospital, more comfortable, calmer. If it meant he had to cancel his flight home, he didn't mind.

That was before he saw the scrawny boy with the black eye, and how the other boys chased him. Something was wrong with this school, and he didn't have much time to find out what.

“Ann...” Shiho piped up. “It's fine. He wants to listen, to...to help, if he can.”

Ann frowned, leaned in closer. “Are you sure?” She glanced up again; Kiryu tried not to stare. “We don't know him,” she whispered.

Gripping her friend's shoulder, Shiho pulled herself straighter, and met Kiryu's eyes. “I trust him.” The corners of her mouth raised slightly. Kiryu, just as subtly, smiled back.

Ann looked between the two again. “Alright,” she finally said. “I need to hear this too.” 

Kiryu carefully took Shiho's other arm, letting her wrap it around his back. The two guided her over to the far wall, where a few empty chairs and unused desks were haphazardly stored. Gently, they let Shiho sink down into a chair. She leaned against the back, her hands sitting limp in her lap.

“Just take your time,” Ann began, crouched on Shiho's right. “Alright?”

“Mm-hm.” And Shiho was silent again. On her left, Kiryu waited.

_She might take a while. Whatever the problem is, must be a lot to remember..._

“Is someone hurting you?” Ann asked.

Shiho nodded.

“Can you tell us who?”

Shiho said nothing. Her fingers twitched slightly.

“Is it...” Ann breathed deeply. “Is it Kamoshida?”

Shiho's face twitched; her hands balled into fists. Kiryu saw Ann's face fall as her nails dug into her leggings.

“Kamoshida?”

“Our gym teacher,” Ann replied, with the quiet tone of someone describing something so hideous, words failed them. Words didn't quite fail Ann, since she bitterly added, “and a total scumbag.”

_Scumbag, huh?_

Kiryu was too familiar with scumbags. He knew the type: people with more power than sense, empty inside and taking that out on everyone below them, getting away with it because no one else wanted to stand up and tell them no. They were, to a man, vile, cruel, greedy, gutless...

...and one of them was drawing this reaction from a high-school girl. A very pretty one...

The dots connected, and Kiryu's skin crawled.

“Shiho,” he swallowed his mounting disgust for her sake, “we know it hurts. You don't want to go through it again, and we understand. But if you want us to help, you _need_ to _tell us_.”

Shiho's fists clenched, but she stiffly nodded.

“So,” Kiryu kneeled next to her, “what did this 'Kamoshida' do?”

\-------------------

Shiho couldn't say another word; she was breathing too heavily, uncontrollably fast. Her eyes welled up again, and she folded her arms tight over her chest, squeezing like she would never pull them apart.

But she didn't need to speak. Her audience understood completely.

Ann felt sick. Her stomach churned from sheer horror, mixed with self-hatred. All those times she told Shiho to stick with the volleyball team, every time she ignored the blaring warning signs on her friend's body, Ann let this happen. As Shiho remembered the horror of the other day and collapsed in a shaking heap into her chair, Ann wanted to break down with her, cry “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry” a thousand times for standing by when this was happening all along.

But she remembered who was really responsible. Ann hated herself right now, but it couldn't hope to match her hatred towards the man who did this. She knew Kamoshida was slime, lower than slime; she never wanted to imagine he could sink even lower than that, and he had.

If that pig, that _absolute bastard_ , thought Ann would just curl up and cry when she learned what he did...

...he did _not_ know what was coming.

“Where is he?”

For most of Shiho's story, the strange man had listened blankly, understanding and focused. Now, he faced the door, waiting for an answer, his voice touched with steel, but as calm as before.

“He's...his...” Ann forced herself to calm down, for now at least. “His office is on the first floor, close to the gym. I'll show you the way.” She was ready to make the son of a bitch pay.

“No. I'll find it myself.”

And the stranger walked away. 

Ann glared at his back in disbelief. He was just leaving them? So casual, so calm, when he only knew the tip of what Kamoshida did to them, to too many others in the school. The thought of just waiting around for someone else to solve a problem that hurt her, that _she_ was responsible for...

...it made her snap.

_“No!”_

The man stopped. Struggling for words, Ann fumed until they came to her.

“My _friend,_ ” she spat, “almost _died_ because of what _he did!_ She kept _all of that_ to herself, and it could've _killed her!_ And when she finally _tells me,_ you just...want me to _stay back?!_ Wait until it's _safe?!_ ” She scoffed angrily. “ _I'm not letting this happen again!_ I'm coming with you, and I'm gonna _show that...bastard--!_ ”

In the middle of her rant, the man half-turned, and Ann froze.

When she first saw him, Ann quickly noticed his eyes: deep-brown, almost black, ominous and intense. She watched him closely the whole time they were on the roof, and soon saw the emotions in them: worry, confusion, concern, even anxiety. Everything his face didn't show was clear in those eyes.

Right now, as blank as his face still was, his eyes blazed. Like a tunnel into a burning cave, Ann saw the deep-seated anger inside him.

But it was more than normal anger.

It was pure, concentrated rage.

Ann shivered; he made her anger feel like a candle flame, a blown-out match. She tore herself away, glanced around at anything, and saw his hands: clenched into fists so tight, she expected blood to drip through his fingers.

He only knew what Shiho went through, and he already looked prepared to kill. What could Ann do if she followed him?

“I know you want to hurt him back,” the man spoke, his voice clashing with the fury in his eyes, “but right now, Shiho needs you more than I do.”

Ann blinked, stunned. Guilt washed away the lingering anger in her heart. It hurt to admit, but he was right: because she was so focused on her own problems before, she ignored everything Shiho was going through, left her alone, and it lead to this. Now, Ann was about to do it again, running off to make herself feel better when her best friend was just as, or even more, alone than before. Kamoshida deserved to pay, he needed to...

...but Ann knew she couldn't throw aside Shiho to do it.

Wiping away a stray tear, Ann slowly walked back to Shiho's side, and rested a hand on her shoulder. The man with those terrifying eyes nodded once, and started for the door again. Shoulders set, fists still clenched, that searing glare facing forward...

The thought of them gave Ann a twist in her stomach.

“Don't kill him!”

He stopped again, looking back at them both.

“Don't...” Ann repeated, softly, “...don't kill him.” Their eyes met, and she tried to match the intensity in his. “Don't let him off that easy. He needs to _suffer._ ”

That last word came out in a hiss; it barely sounded like her voice. Somewhere inside Ann, she knew it was wrong, a horrible thing to wish on another person. But she still said it, and at the moment, she believed it. The stranger listened, and his blazing eyes dimmed slightly. He must not have expected to hear words that ruthless from someone like her. In the end, he understood; the man nodded again and left, his heavy footsteps echoing down the empty stairwell.

When his footsteps faded, Ann finally asked, half to Shiho, half to herself:

“Who was he?”

Shiho's head perked up. “He s-said his name was...K-K-Kiryu...”

“Kiryu? Just that?”

Shiho stared down at her lap. “He _saved_ me, Ann,” she whispered. “He s-s-saved my _life..._ ”

She began trembling again, like she still couldn't believe it. Ann wrapped an arm around her. She still smoldered inside. The thought that Kamoshida could get away with this was like a breath over glowing coals, driving them into a vicious burn. If this “Kiryu” guy couldn't make him pay, she'd have to do it herself...or maybe with some help...

But right now, Ann had to ignore those thoughts. She knew she had someone important to help first.

“Come on, you.” She pushed it all down and pulled together a gentle smile. “Let's get out of here.”

\----------------------

Suguru Kamoshida wasn't having the best day.

His car was acting up again; that punk down at the shop was gonna get some words, or worse, for fleecing him. When he finally got to work, someone else was in _his_ parking spot, like they didn't _know_ he always parked there. Kamoshida knew who it was, and one talk with Kobayakawa was all he needed to get them back in line, but _God_ , he couldn't stand the insult. By 11:00, he was looking forward to gym class, a chance to get his mood up and remind himself who was King around here.

Then came the news about Suzui, the stupid girl. He hadn't expected her to be so dramatic. At most, he figured she'd mope about the other day for a while; if it really got to her, she'd end it on the subway or a crosswalk somewhere. That, he didn't mind (after all, it served Takamaki right for standing him up like that), but doing the high dive into the courtyard brought way too much attention, and way too close to him. Someone might connect the dots...

Why worry, though? Sure, she didn't even jump, the word was she was headed to the hospital, but Kobayakawa could smooth it over with the right threats: pulling her sports scholarship, kicking her off the volleyball team, full-on expulsion, anything to keep that pretty little mouth shut and closed. If that useless sack of guts did his job for once, Kamoshida wouldn't have a thing to worry about.

He was still a little bothered: Suzui's scene meant classes were canceled for the day, which meant no gym class to burn off that stress from this morning. For a while, he seethed in his too-small office, crammed with sports gear like a damn storeroom...

...until the door was thrown open.

“You _bastard!_ ”

Sakamoto barged in with that delinquent friend of his, and Mishima trailing behind them.

_"What did you do to her?!”_ Sakamoto yelled.

“What are you talking about?” He played dumb, but Kamoshida knew exactly what. Had Suzui told them? And how much?

_“Don't screw around!”_ Sakamoto's good leg shot out, sent a chair skittering across the floor.

“What you did...” Mishima said weakly, “...wasn't coaching...”

Kamoshida paused. Slowly, he stood from his chair.

“What did you say?”

He knew Mishima was a weak link; that's why he was so easy to boss around. Sooner or later, the brat would crack.

“You...you ordered me to call Suzui here! Whatever you did...” The weakling looked ready to puke.

Kamoshida looked blandly at the boy, disgusted but not afraid. Even with everything Mishima knew, everything Shiho could tell them, what did he have to fear?

“Hypothetically speaking,” Kamoshida said coolly, “why do you think anyone's gonna believe you three?”

Sakamoto's face flared with impotent rage. “Shiho's _alive!_ She'll tell _everyone_ what you did!”

“Oh yeah, she's alive,” Kamoshida replied, stepping closer to the trio. “It's a shame she was struggling to keep up with the volleyball team, though.” Fake concern soaked into each word.

“Wha--?”

“All that extra _practice,_ and she still lagged behind. Not to mention how jealous she was of all the attention Takamaki was getting, or how tough that second-year coursework got. Everything was just _piling_ on top of her. No wonder she wanted to jump...”

“No way...” Sakamoto muttered. “No one's gonna believe that _bullshit!_ ”

“Oh?” Kamoshida folded his arms and looked down on them. “And who are they gonna believe? The track team screw-up who threw hands with his coach?” Sakamoto grimaced. “The benchwarmer desperate to make the team?” Mishima shrank even more. “The new kid with a record?” The third boy stared back, blankly. “Or the teacher, who's done more for this school _and_ this country than you three _ever_ will?”

All three were quiet. Kamoshida's grin widened.

“These are still some heavy accusations you're throwing around,” he wondered aloud, “We don't tolerate that around here. So, for your behavior, all of you will be expelled. I'll report it at the next board meeting.”

“Expel—no...!”

Mishima collapsed, and Sakamoto exploded.

“You goddamn--!” He stood tensed and bow-legged, fists taught and shaking at his sides.

Outside, Kamoshida sighed, but inside, he was laughing. “This again? Do we need another lesson on “self-defense”, Sakamoto? Maybe something to _even you out?_ ” He glanced at the boy's remaining good leg.

“You shut your mouth, _you son of a bitch!_ ” Sakamoto's fist reeled back. Kamoshida was ready to catch it, twist, strike his elbow inward, listen for the snap. How much worse would his studying get then?

Before the fist could fly, another hand reached out. Sakamoto gaped back at his black-haired friend, who held his wrist tight.

“Le'ggo of me, man!” Sakamoto hissed.

His friend leaned in, still holding on, and softly said, “Don't let him get to you.”

“But..!”

Kamoshida was disappointed; he'd really wanted another reason to show that punk who was in charge.

“At least one of you has some sense.” He smirked at the kid. “I'm surprised it's you...”

The delinquent gave him that creepy look, like he was trying to read your mind. No wonder he snapped on that one guy.

“Now, all of you,” Kamoshida ordered bitterly, “get out of my office.”

Sakamoto jerked his wrist out of his friend's grip. He glared up at Kamoshida, who smirked back. Finally, he stooped to pick Mishima off the floor, and the three headed for the door.

Kamoshida watched them slink away like a pack of whipped dogs, all the fight ripped out of them. _Serves 'em right,_ he thought, returning to his chair, thoroughly relaxed. Nothing could bother him, nothing could touch him, and nothing ever would.

After all, he was the King, wasn't he?

The door nearly flew off its rollers. Kamoshida snapped to the entrance. The boys were by the wall, rooted to the floor. Someone was in their way.

A man in a gray hoodie stood in the doorway, one hand wrapped around the door. He stepped through, glanced at the students, then turned to the only other person in the room. Kamoshida glared back.

“Can I help you?”

The man's dark eyes glinted in the dull florescent light; stupid as it was, Kamoshida shivered a little, though he didn't know why.

“You Kamoshida?” His voice was clear and deep.

“Yeah. Who wants to know?”

Not looking away, the man walked closer, and the boys shuffled against the wall. He walked with a kind of swagger, shoulders swinging subtly with each step. In full view, he was broader than Kamoshida, maybe even a little taller. The teacher felt a sharp twinge of contempt.

“A concerned citizen. I helped Shiho get back to the roof. She's fine now.”

Kamoshida folded his arms, leaned back to seem taller. “Well, thanks for that. I'm glad someone helped the poor girl.” In front of this stranger, he had to sound relaxed, like he actually cared, choking down his growing irritation.

The man squinted. He wasn't buying it.

“She told me some interesting things. Your name came up often...”

With great effort, Kamoshida kept his face from twitching.

_That little bitch...!_

“Really? I'm sorry you had to hear that.” He fought to stay cool. “Shiho's been having some...episodes lately, going through some hard times. I've tried to help her, but she just thinks I'm to blame.” Kamoshida forced a laugh. “Imagine that, right?”

“'Episodes'...?”

Kamoshida tried to grin casually. “You know how it is with kids, especially around this age. Always making a big deal out of everything, overreacting to--.”

“He's _lying!_ ”

Over the man's shoulder, Sakamoto cut in. When the man faced him, the boy cowered a little, but he gulped and kept himself firm.

“Don't believe him...”

The man faced Kamoshida again, subtly scowling with narrowed eyes.

“Is _that_ just an _'episode'_? Just 'going through _hard times_ '? What about Shiho's friend? She backed up everything, even gave some of her own stories. Is she just _'overreacting'_?”

Kamoshida struggled to hold back a grimace.

_Takamaki...!_

“And what about him?” The man pointed at Mishima, who flinched. “You telling me he gave _himself_ a black eye, those scratches?”

“ _Mishima_ ”, Kamoshida hissed, “had an _accident_ the other day. Fell down the stairs after class, I think. Isn't that _right, Mishima?_ ”

Everyone turned to the pale boy: Sakamoto, intensely, the transfer kid, blankly, and the man's face, Kamoshida couldn't see. Mishima's eyes flicked between all of them. He looked restless, uncomfortable, uneasy. Just what Kamoshida wanted.

But then, he fixed on the man towering over him, and slowly, Mishima relaxed. His breathing slowed, his body stopped shaking, his shoulders and arms loosened and gently fell to his sides. Sakamoto and the transfer looked at each other, shocked; they could see the man's face, and they were as confused and surprised as Kamoshida was, watching them by his desk.

Mishima slowly shook his head, and looked Kamoshida square in the eyes, wide and anxious, unwavering.

“Four against one,” the man said. “With your luck, _he_ probably has something to add, too.” The man nodded at the transfer kid, who watched him with those blank yet piercing eyes. “Or are we all just having some _'hard times'_?”

Kamoshida was about to lose his cool. This _bastard_ and these stupid _brats_ thought they could try to scare him in _his_ school? In _his_ castle?

“I—you...” he grunted. “How dare...listen, you...”

“Already losing it?” The man scoffed; it drove into Kamoshida's ears like a stake. “Save your breath. We're _all_ going to your principal, and you're going to tell him _everything_.”

Kamoshida stopped his angry stammers. Finally, the man made a big mistake.

_He thinks Kobayakawa can help him...was that his big plan? Drag me in front of that oaf and expect me to spill my guts about everything he already knew? Heh. He's in for a surprise..._

_In fact, why bother the principal at all? I'll handle this myself..._

His confidence came surging back, and Kamoshida relaxed, chuckled to himself, relished the confusion on the man's stony face.

“You making threats, _pal?_ ”

“No.” The man stepped forward. “I'm making a _promise._ ”

Kamoshida closed in, stopped almost nose-to-nose with the intruder, and grinned into his face. Out of sight, he balled a fist.

“A little warning about _promises,_ ” he casually brushed back his curly hair with his other hand. “Don't _make_ 'em, if you can't _keep_ 'em.”

And Kamoshida struck, a rabbit punch straight for the gut. He could already see the rest of the scene: the guy doubles over, clutching his stomach. He gets a double-fisted slam onto his back, and he goes down, maybe with a few kicks for good measure. Later, the story gets around about the dangerous psycho who jumped him in his office, and how Kamoshida bravely and single-handedly fought him off, no matter what those punks claim. More praise and more fame for him, everyone forgets about Suzui, and everything goes back to normal.

_Heh heh heh...the perfect ending for this little tale..._

His fist slammed against the man's stomach. Kamoshida held it there, wearing a manic grin, feeling the impact bounce back through his arm. He waited for the inevitable groan, the full-body heave forward that would bring the bastard beneath him, where he belonged.

But nothing happened. The man wasn't buckling over in pain, groaning or gasping as he fought to not retch over the linoleum. All that had changed was that Kamoshida's hand now throbbed like he'd picked a fight with a brick wall.

_“Gyyaaaaaaa!!!”_

Kamoshida yowled as he wrenched his hand back. He could barely flex his fingers without them lighting up with pain.

_...the fuck...?!_

He gaped at the stony figure in front of him; his eyes were ferocious slits, and he exhaled like a bull through his nose. If he felt any pain from the punch, it'd vanished by now. He simply stared down at Kamoshida, hunched over, clutching his aching fist. That stance, that quietly smug look, that _stupid perfect haircut..._

It made him _sick..._

Rage swelled in the pit of Kamoshida's stomach, and his mouth twisted into an open-lipped scowl.

_Okay...try to tank_ this, _asshole...!_

He straightened up, arched back, flung another punch, aimed at the jaw. The idiot would get it this time; he didn't even see it coming...

The punch stopped short. While the man's arms _had_ been hanging at his sides, somehow, in the split second before impact, he'd shot his left hand over his face and caught the fist, as neatly as a baseball dropping into a catcher's mitt. His grip tightened immediately; Kamoshida tugged and jerked, but it wouldn't come free.

_What the shit?!_

Winding up, he swung again with his free hand, trying for the other side. Another hand flew in the way, and the other fist was trapped. Flailing and twisting, stomping and cursing, Kamoshida struggled to pull himself loose, but he was a fly in a glue trap: totally and inescapably stuck.

Exhausted with no sign of getting out, he slumped over, panting at the floor.

_Keep it together, man...you still got one way out..._

He slumped lower, blocking his legs with his body. Unseen by his attacker, Kamoshida slipped his left leg back, and waited for the right moment to launch it forward into the place he knew there wasn't anything to block it.

_Let's see how tough ya really are...!_

His leg tensed. Just another second and--

The grip on his hands grew even tighter. Kamoshida felt his arms being forced apart, like someone pulling open an elevator door. He tried to push back; all he did was slow the man down. His limbs rotated outward, and his elbows were pinned to his sides. Feeling like a trussed-up chicken, Kamoshida struggled some more, but the most he could do was uselessly wobble his torso. The man watched his pathetic flailing with a cool, emotionless expression.

_The hell is he doing?!_

Suddenly, he leaned back, and like a mad beast about to charge, the man _roared,_ with the purest fury anyone in the room had ever heard. He rocketed forward into Kamoshida's face. With the angle the teacher was fixed at, the man's forehead smashed into his nose.

_“AAAAAGGHHAGGH!!!”_

He heard the *snap!* through his skull, and hot, throbbing pain quickly followed. His attacker let his hands go. Stumbling backwards, Kamoshida barely caught the edge of his desk to stop himself from toppling. His free hand clutched his face, already wet and slippery, blood pooling in his palm; an aching bulge swelled over the bridge of his nose. Across the room, Sakamoto cried “Holy _shit!_ ”. Of course he was enjoying this: the man he hated was being humiliated in front of him.

Humiliation...

That's what this was for Kamoshida. While he barely held himself upright and grasped his bloody, permanently marked face, some guy he didn't know was embarrassing him in front of the people beneath him. He was knocking their King down to the level of the commoners, to the dirt under their feet. Somehow, it felt appropriate, deserved, a long time coming...

_No..._

_No!_

_I don't deserve this! I'm better than all of them, than everyone in this goddamn school!_

_You think you can knock me around like some candy-ass first-year?! Do you know who I am?!_

_I'm Suguru_ Fucking _Kamoshida! And I'll show you what happens when you_ fuck _with the King!_

Kamoshida's face twitched wildly, stretched into a nasty, bloody sneer. His cheeks blew out with heavy breaths through his teeth. He twisted his head towards the others; the students recoiled at the sight, and the transfer kid looked like he was seeing something even worse. But the man, that giant bastard, showed nothing, no mark from his attack, and no emotion but cool indifference to the rabid, furious man hunched in front of him. This time, that look was absolutely _maddening._

“You... _cocksucker!_ ” Kamoshida bellowed, and he charged, screaming, blood streaming down his chin. Fists raised, he didn't care where he hit. He wanted to make the man _hurt._ The gap closed, he threw his whole weight behind a single punch...

It cut through the air, and nothing else. Kamoshida skipped on one leg to keep his balance. He whirled left and right, ignoring the dumbstruck students, the only people he could see.

_Where the fuck...?!_

He spun around, and there the man was, behind him. He cracked out his knuckles, rolled out his shoulders. Arms at the ready, he locked himself into a fighting stance.

Kamoshida swiped with a right hook. At the last second, the man dodged: a boxer's weave to his right, but almost _sliding_ over the ground. Kamoshida's eyes followed him, bulging and bloodshot, too shocked to see--

_*WHAM!*_

A left cross caught his jaw. He launched to the side, collapsed over his desk, slumped against the file folders and loose papers under him, flecking them with drops of red. Pain coursed through his brain like freezing mud. He knew his face burned, and his jaw, though not broken, hurt like hell, but everything felt..fuzzy.

He'd never been beaten like this before. No one had ever come close to touching him. But this ox thought he could, just because some brat and her slut friend came crying to him?!

Kamoshida slammed his bloody hand on the desk.

_How dare...!_

He grabbed the closest object: that stiff-necked desk lamp, flimsy and cheap, but if he swung it hard enough...

_HOW DARE YOU!_

_“RRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAGGGGH!!!”_

Kamoshida tore the lamp out of the wall, sending a row of folders and piles of papers flying with it. He slashed and struck with his makeshift club, aiming for that skull like a goddamn Easter Island head. The man twisted away from every swing, skating around each lunge without hitting back. Watching this irritating dance, Kamoshida lost his last scrap of patience. He feinted a right hook, then swung the lamp down like an axe. An excellent plan, a brilliant plan, he thought. His last chance to salvage this mess into something that favored him, like it should have from the start.

But it was a plan that would only work if the man bought the feint.

He didn't. He slipped past the lamp on its way down, and replied with two rapid jabs to the face. Kamoshida's broken nose lit up again, spurting a fresh stream of blood over his lips. His head swam again; he felt dizzy and faint. Blinking rapidly, Kamoshida shook out his head, and it cleared just in time for another punch to swing into his stomach.

The lamp dropped from his hand, and clattered on the floor. Kamoshida doubled over, heaving and coughing, as the man slid away. Knees weak, he wavered and wobbled to the table along the nearest wall.

_This...this isn't right! He can't win! I CAN'T LET HIM WIN!_

Kamoshida pounded a fist down on the tabletop, forced himself upright, and tried to hold his quivering arms up, ready to finally give his all against this thug. 

The thug, he soon saw, who was now holding something.

_...is that a traffic co--_

_*THWACK!*_

The answer clubbed him over the head as hard as a hammer. The square base slammed into his skull, sending shockwaves through his brain, stunning him again. It broke something in him.

_Stop...no!_

He clutched his throbbing ear, and threatened to topple over. Before he could, a high kick evened him out and sent him lurching to his left. Tears welled up, and his blood ran cold through the pain.

_No more...please...!_

Kamoshida balanced in the middle, and his watery eyes saw the man's face contorted like a demon's, as the orange cone came plunging down...

_STOP!_

_*THONK!*_

The cone _shattered_ around Kamoshida's head; he went hurtling to the ground, and sprawled over the loose papers around him. When he gathered himself, he tried to scramble away, but the papers slipped under him, and he smacked his jaw into the floor.

It was outrageous, him spread out and crawling in front of his subjects, the worthless brats he had just forced to submit to him. He knew they were watching him struggle and moan. He almost expected Sakamoto to start stomping on him too, gleefully adding to his misery.

Even if he did, Kamoshida would hardly notice it. He already hurt all over; what difference would more pain make?

A massive shadow fell over him. Kamoshida shakily looked up. The man's towering frame blocked out the ceiling light, but it wasn't him alone. He lifted something over his head. In his ringing ears, Kamoshida heard a faint roar, and the man's shadowed face was again twisted with terrifying rage.

Kamoshida's eyes widened. He knew what the man was holding.

“No-!”

But it was already on its way to meet him.

_*CRASH!*_

His desk chair exploded over his back. Kamoshida was flattened under the seat, knocking him back down into a pile of orange and black plastic shards. His back pounded, and trying to move made it seize and throb even harder. All he could do was gasp and moan in the dead silence of the office. Without looking, he knew everyone was staring at him. His cheeks burned, and his eyes streamed.

_It's not fair...I don't deserve this!_ He sobbed to himself. _I'm the fucking King! It's not fair...!_

Strong hands flipped him over. Kamoshida winced in the light from the ceiling, and groaned as he was hoisted to his feet by his collar. He was pulled face-to-face with the man, now glowering down at him. Despite the ache over his body, Kamoshida could see the man's face more clearly than ever, and he finally noticed his eyes...

Sweet Jesus, those eyes...

“So,” the man grunted as he bored into Kamoshida with a look of violent fury, “you coming with us?”

Kamoshida sniffed. Tears dripped down his bloodied face. His breathing picked up, grew shaky and stuttering, shuddering from between his chattering teeth. The silence of the room made him even colder, and the burning rage staring him down felt even stronger.

The man tightened his grip, jerked him closer, and Kamoshida snapped.

“D-d-d-d-d-d-don't kill me!” He squealed. “Don't kill me, man! I don't deserve this, I don't, I don't!” He panted wildly. “I didn't do anything, _please_ let me go! _Don't kill me!_ ”

And Kamoshida broke down into body-wracking sobs.


End file.
